


Promises, Perhaps.

by Morrigan2345



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22400905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morrigan2345/pseuds/Morrigan2345
Summary: Understandably, Yennefer has a problem with fate tying her to this man.But, perhaps, not everything is as dreary at first glance.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Promises, Perhaps.

**Author's Note:**

> What happened was that I'm on The Witcher netflix show high and have also been playing Hades which got me thinking about Greek Myths and... here we are.
> 
> My take on Hades/Persephone with Geralt and Yen!

She expects a chariot, at least something more than a dust covered chestnut mare, but she’ll make due.

“My lord.” She says in greeting, picking more tiny berries off the stem she cut down a while ago.

The sound of the river beside her muffles the sound of his feet hitting the grass covered floor but she waits until his armour shifts behind her to turn around. His arms are crossed but his face remains impassive, eyes still unnaturally bright and the same intensity since she had last seen him as a girl.

“Girl.” His mouth says, _Persephone_ , his mind says clear as day between them.

She laughs, no trace of humor in the action, “No girl, no more, my lord.”

His eye’s ghost over her shoulder, an uptick to his mouth as he murmurs, acknowledges, “Yennefer.”

“You must know then?” she asks, crouching to shake the last of the berries off, if these are to be her last taste of the living world she might as well get every last bit of them.

He watches her pop the berries into her mouth, “I’ve known longer than you’ve been alive.” He says, not exactly testily but close enough to make her chuckle.

She makes a show of thinking, “Hm, I’d argue knowing and accepting are two different things.”

“I would still win in that regard as well.” He says, as if pointing this out would stop this conversation from happening.

“Would you now?” she says, taking a step towards him, basket of berries in hand, throwing back another handful of the small fruit and savouring the taste, “Perhaps, if I had been foolish and love stricken you might have won, but the truth remains my lord, I am none of those things.”

“And so you have won, then?” the grass seems to wilt under his feet she notes absentmindedly, as she picks more berries. Careful hands wrap around her wrist, turning her palms skyward as he takes a berry into his hand.

They watch it as it dies, the juice of it leaking down his palm as a sour scent permeates the air around them, “I think…” she says, dragging a finger through the rotten remains, “I’ve won more than either of us seem to care for.”

His hand turns sideways, the fruit rolling to the ground below them, “I’ve never known you to be this optimistic.” He says, cheek twitching as though he wants to smirk.

She puts the basket back onto the ground, turns halfway around and retrieves the sorry excuse of a letter she’s written and places it amongst the berries, “You don’t know me.” She says, plainly, funnily she can’t meet his eyes for a second, but it passes.

“I don’t.”

“You _don’t.”_ She repeats, accusatory for half a second, before her fingers twitch and they both look as all the sweet berries below them shrivel. The rotten juice seeps into her note, she thinks if fate could do her justice this once it was to ruin that note before it could come back and haunt her. Her mother won’t, will never, understand but Yennefer has deemed this course of action fit.

She sees him bend, hand grasping at the letter, “Don’t.” she says, “It’s worthless now.” And turns her back to him, she stares at the horse and its simple saddle. 

She expects his presence behind her, but not the way his words wash over her, he sounds apologetic in a way she thought was not possible, “I can try.”

She knows he’s not talking about the letter but still she tilts her face towards him, the sun is behind him but she manages to find his eyes amongst the gold, her lip curling against her will, “It’s useless now, no one will be able to read it.”

As she expects he huffs, slightly irritated but there’s a gleam in his eyes that against her better judgment she finds appealing, “I _will_ try.” He says shortly, and she turns fully now, he’s taller than her but her hands can reach his cheek easily. She didn’t know of god’s with stubble but he seems to be a fan, the hairs catching under her nails as he try’s to conceal the way his mouth pinches.

It was that unfortunate day in her mother’s orchard that she remembers in this moment.

Knowing her life was promised to another was not her concern, her memories of the man that was to be hers were non-existent, she had no reason to think on it seeing as the problem had never introduced itself. 

He had a full beard then, white and gnarly, it made him seem older and unaffected. She made no noise as he stared at her, but she moved her back to the tree behind her causing the harsh bark to break the fabric. Only then, when she had felt the power that the tree gave her on her bare back, did he squint.

Looking back she knows he had been at least slightly amused.

“No need for that.” He said, almost placatingly.

“I know who you are, leave.” she had said, quick to anger in her younger years. 

Again his eyes squint, this time he steps back, she relaxes briefly against the tree but she feels the blood leaking from where the tree punctured her dress, “No harm, girl.” He had said, his eyes flicked quickly to a dying branch and tensed as nothing had changed.

“No harm, my lord.” She said, even as she felt the sting of fire in her gut as magic pulled under her skin, not yet released but restless, nonetheless.

They stood like that, staring at each other as Yennefer’s magic slowly dispersed, the first expression she had seen him wear was thoughtfulness as he spoke his next words, “You know who I am, and yet.”

“I am not a cautious person by nature, my lord, but nor am I an idiot,” his eyebrow twitched and she almost laughed, “I know men and their vices. God’s are no exception.”

Another thoughtful looks passes quickly over his eyes, gold she’s realizing too late, but it’s gone the next second, “Even a God you’ve been promised to.”

The leaves of the tree blacken slightly, but her expression doesn’t change, “I’ve promised you nothing.”

“No,” he says lightly, turning, “I suppose you haven’t.”

The ground is silent under his heel, as though he’s commanded no earthly organism touch him, she watches him go wearily until he stops, “Nor have I.” he says.

Confused, her back unhinging from the tree to stand, his back is still turned but he seems to be waiting for her to speak, “Have you what?” she asks, dreading the answer.

She can’t see the glint of his eyes but she feels the heat of them, something cooling in her lungs, “Promised you,” before the ground opens to swallow him he parts with her, an angry tilt to his words, ones she’ll ponder later, “Anything.”

“I have not promised you one thing, Persephone.”

Reality comes back to her as she feels his palm on the back of her hand, “You were very dramatic back then.” She says, lightly, the memory clouding her judgment as she feels what she can only call fondness roll in her chest.

“How do you know I’ve changed?” He asks, she catches no hint of weariness but there’s a slight truth that rings clear in his question, how does she know.

It might be, even though this is the second time they’ve spoken in the past years, that she’s kept an eye out. Her mother forbade her venturing past they’re land but she had taken it upon herself to at least see what might become of her life now that the pesky hand of fate had entered her line of sight.

Slowly she had watched him, a vantage point she had somehow stumbled upon, and even slower he had eventually noticed. Though she had no proof certain displays seemed, unnecessary as she watched.

Though she had appreciated the times she would catch glimpses of broad shoulders and unruly white hair, the duties of his everyday life seemed to interest her more, the value she saw in these transaction in his domain between God’s and the dead fascinated her to no end. 

He had shown her his home with out speaking to her once.

She had learned most of him through her observations, but as his words come back to her once again she’s beginning to think that there’s more of this man than what she sees at face value, “I have a feeling.” She says, unabashedly, those thoughts put away for a time later, seeing as though she’s going to have plenty of it in the near future.

“I bet.” He says, she snorts, dropping her hand from his cheek and only missing the cool touch of his face slightly, he looks towards the darkening sky, “Yennefer…” he says and she understands.

As they make their way to the horse she stops him with a hand on his shoulder, turning him to face her, “You haven’t promised me. Yet.”

“Neither have you.” He says, but he doesn’t look displeased.

“You have to know,” she says, allows herself to drip in a note of frustration, “You have to know that fate has taken my, _our_ -“

“Fate is an old woman, Yennefer.” He says it like a fact but it still bothers her.

“You Gods,” she says lightly, “seem to fear nothing, but you would be fools to believe yourself free of fate.” He says nothing, so she sighs and gestures towards the horse, “If I must fear for the both of us, so be it, perhaps one day you’ll understand why fate had fucked us in this.”

He leaves her waiting as he climbs onto the taller looking horse, before he reaches out he asks her, “Perhaps not everything is fucked.” It’s not a question, a simple offer.

The hand in front of her offers a new life, a new home, a domain she had only entertained in passing as suitable.

The hand in front of her allows her to maybe prove fate wrong, or right.

And perhaps, as she slides her hand against his, not everything is fucked and maybe a chariot would have been too much to get through all of these trees in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!!


End file.
